


Every Human Touch Repaid

by shadowsapiens



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Dimitri and Felix are bad at emotions, Drunken Confessions, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, M/M, Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:54:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22675918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowsapiens/pseuds/shadowsapiens
Summary: Maybe he’ll try talking to Felix. Giving him space certainly hasn’t improved anything.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius
Comments: 8
Kudos: 83
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 5





	Every Human Touch Repaid

**Author's Note:**

  * For [parallaxselene (Vartox)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vartox/gifts).



> Happy Chocolate Box!! I loved your requests, and hope you enjoy the result :)

The celebration takes a livelier turn after they bid the professor goodnight. Claude keeps wine in his bedroom—as does Sylvain—and Hilda and Leonie procure an astonishing amount of ale. Dimitri means to make his farewells. The day’s been going so well, from the Blue Lions’ victory at the Battle of the Eagle and Lion to this celebration of unity. He’d hate to mar the memory by disgracing himself too badly. Edelgard and Hubert have already wisely vanished. 

But somehow half the school fits into Claude’s bedroom and the hallway just outside. And everyone’s so giddy, so strangely happy, Dimitri can’t bear to leave early. He even sees Felix smiling at something Sylvain says. It’s a rare sight, bright and open.

Dimitri looks away. He feels too warm. He knows that smile isn’t meant for him. 

Maybe he’ll try talking to Felix. Giving him space certainly hasn’t improved anything. Maybe they need a night like tonight—raise glasses instead of swords. He can whisper something in Felix’s ear and listen to him laugh at it.

His glass has filled itself again without him noticing. He can’t taste it, but he feels the faint burn in his throat, the warmth in his stomach. He watches Dedue supporting a stumbling Ashe out the door as Annette trounces Ferdinand in some sort of cup-stacking contest. Ingrid letting Dorothea do something to her hair, Glenn leaning on Sylvain’s shoulder and—

No. Glenn’s not here. 

Dimitri downs the rest of his wine. Sets the mug on Claude’s desk, to join a dozen others. Closes his eyes. When he opens them again, Glenn is gone, but Felix is gone too.

He moves to the door on impulse, the fuzziness of the wine stopping him from stopping, in time to see Felix’s slight form disappearing into the stairwell. 

If he’d gone to his room, Dimitri would have let him go. He would have, he’s sure of it. But instead, curiosity or exhilaration or self-destruction is too great a temptation: he turns his back on the laughter, and follows Felix into the shadows.

Felix hasn’t gone far: a dark, thin shape at the bottom of the stairs. He’s leaning against the wall, and only pushes away when he hears Dimitri’s approach. 

“Boar,” he says without looking up. His smile is entirely gone.

“My apologies.” Dimitri pauses a few steps up. Then takes one step closer. “I was simply…” He can’t finish the sentence. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, and he tries not to lie to Felix. If he must be a monster, he can be an honest one. 

Felix sighs. “Just go back to your party.”

Dimitri might have. Except when Felix moves away, he stumbles on the first step and limps on the next. There’s no third step. Dimitri finds himself at Felix’s side, hand on his elbow. “You’re injured,” he accuses. “We must visit Manuela.”

Felix yanks in his grip, but can’t break away. His glare is dagger-sharp. “You don’t get to act concerned about me, boar. It’s bad enough watching you pretend to be a person with the rest of them, don’t think you can fool me too.”

“I’m not _acting_ ,” Dimitri starts, then hears the growl under his voice. Takes a deep breath, continues more softly. “Why did you not say something after the battle? You cannot let your pride—”

“It’s not a battle injury.” It’s too dark to really see, but Felix has that sideways look in his eyes he gets when he’s blushing. “I just. Uh. Tripped on the last stair.”

“Ah. I see.”

Dimitri’s still holding onto Felix’s arm. Bone and muscle fits so perfectly in his grasp, and he wishes he’d taken his gauntlets off, because he wants to feel whether Felix is warm, wants to feel his pulse through his skin, wants to…

Perhaps Claude’s wine was stronger than he’d thought. He lets go of Felix’s arm before his imagination can run further astray. 

Felix glances up at him, too quickly to read, then walks away. He must be drunk as well, because when Dimitri follows, he doesn’t protest. 

Past midnight, the monastery is quiet. Not silent. This deep into the Wyvern Moon, Faerghus would be cloaked in silent snow, but Garreg Mach still hums with insects and night birds. Their boots crunch in the damp grass. Dimitri trails a step behind Felix, and for the first time in a long time, his mind is utterly calm. Empty of anger and joy alike. There are no whispers only he can hear. 

Felix turns right after the lower wing of dormitories. Detours into the courtyard, past the Golden Eagles’ classroom, past the Blue Lions’ classroom. Stops, so quickly Dimitri nearly runs into him, and backtracks to their classroom. He stumbles, and it takes all of Dimitri’s shaky willpower to let him steady himself against a pillar instead of grabbing him again. 

The door’s unlocked. Felix staggers through it, then leans heavily against a desk. His gaze is scattered. Falls in every corner of the room except on Dimitri.

Dimitri closes the door behind them. Walks forward very slowly, and leans next to Felix. Moonlight shines muted and blue through the stained glass windows, like they’re deep underwater. It’s certainly hard enough to breathe.

He manages to ask, “What’s wrong?”

Of course something’s wrong. Even after everything they’ve been through—especially after everything they’ve been through—he knows when Felix is upset. 

And for the first time in a long time, Felix answers. “I used to dream about this, you know.”

“This?”

“This.” Felix gestures clumsily at the room. “Attending the Officer’s Academy, with you and Ingrid and Sylvain if he hadn’t graduated already. This was… It should have been…”

“Different,” Dimitri finishes quietly. His hands tighten, metal scraping against the edge of the desk. “It should have been different. But we’re here nonetheless.”

“Are we really?” Felix’s laughter is too thin. “Are you?”

This close, even in the darkness, Dimitri can see the telltale glittering in Felix’s eyes. A strange warmth possesses him, and forces the next words from his lips: “I still care greatly for you, Felix.”

Felix lifts his hand to his face and turns away. Mutters, “Fuck,” from under his hand, and then, “You fucking bastard.”

Dimitri knows he is a monster. That his blood runs hot with cruelty, that pain is the only taste remaining to him. That’s why he says, when he knows Felix is too off-balance to strike back, “I always will, whatever comes to pass.”

Felix shudders. When Dimitri moves, gently touches his back, he doesn’t pull away. Dimitri’s hand flattens between his shoulderblades. Even through the gauntlets, now, he feels the heat of his body. The unsteady rise and fall of his ribs. The scent of him, sweat and leather and too much wine, has Dimitri drunker than he’s ever been. The classroom feels impossibly crowded, even though they’re alone, and realization hits like a blade between his ribs:

He wants to kiss him. 

Has wanted to kiss him, without knowing it, for years.

He is still trying—failing—to process this when Felix speaks again. “I envy the others.” His hand falls onto the desk. Far too near Dimitri’s thigh. “They still think you’re—when you were up there, laughing with the rest of them, like you’re normal, like you’re…” He shudders, and whispers, “Sometimes I wish I could pretend too.”

Dimitri understands. The sudden pressure in his lungs is not entirely sadness, but it hurts all the same. His voice is even softer than Felix’s when he asks, “Could we? Pretend, just for tonight?”

He braces himself, and covers Felix’s hand with his own. 

Felix freezes under his touch. Then shatters. The empty classroom falls away, and all Dimitri sees is Felix in front of him, standing between his knees, leaning in. His fingertips are bare and warm against Dimitri’s jaw. 

“Fine,” he breathes against Dimitri’s lips. “But don’t say anything, or you’ll ruin it.”

He doesn’t have a chance to disobey before Felix is on him. The kiss is bruising. Blinding. Real.

Dimitri isn’t pretending when he kisses back.


End file.
